The Four Ghosts
by Hidden River
Summary: A familiar Christmas story, Who style. SPOILER ALERT: This was loosely inspired by casting/set spoilers for the Xmas 2009/New Years 2010 specials. The specials won't happen like this, but please do not read if you're trying to remain completely unspoiled.
1. Prelude

**Prelude**

"I think that's the last of them - quick scan to be certain… Yes! Another Christmas saved."

The Doctor grinned at the young woman next to him. "Just in time for, well, Christmas." He pocketed the sonic screwdriver - a job well done. "Thanks for coming after me the way you did – couldn't have done it without you, um…"

He stopped, realizing he'd actually forgotten her name. _I never forget a name. Well, only on purpose. Getting sloppy in my old age._

"Sorry, what did you say your name was?"

"Carol." She stared at him, eyes wide with wonder. "Doctor, that was amazing. And…you seem as though you do this sort of thing all the time."

He shrugged, feigning modesty. "I do. Well, not _all_ the time. Just most of the time."

She shook her head. "Guess it beats cleaning houses for a living. It was kind of fun, actually, apart from the nearly dying and the world almost being pulled apart by those rift thingees."

His smile faded ever so slightly. _Here it comes, _he thought._ Have to let her down gently. Shame really – she's smart, brave, and thinks I'm amazing. But…no. _

"So, um, where you off to now?" she asked, clearly trying – and failing – to sound casual. "Got any plans for Christmas?"

"Me? No. I'll just be heading off. I'm a busy man. Lots to do and see."

"I'm sort of at loose ends myself. Holidays aren't a big deal like they used to be. My family's all scattered across Europe these days, and I'm sort of between blokes at the moment." She looked up at him hopefully. "Don't suppose you'd like some company?"

_Gently_, he reminded himself. "Um, no. Thanks, but I work better alone. Well, no, not really, but…it's a long story. I just can't. Sorry."

She made a credible attempt to hide her disappointment. "Right, I completely understand. Well, it's been fun. Have a good one."

Then again, perhaps she really _didn't_ care that much. "You too. Merry Christmas, Carol. Hee – Christmas Carol, I like that!"

She smiled and, with a little wave, she was off, walking down the road to wherever it was she called home.

He waited until she disappeared around the corner before beginning the short trek back to his Tardis. _Hmmph, another Christmas without snow. One of these days. _The sky was clear – he could just make out the constellation of Canis Major through the London haze. That reminded him; there was a small temporal and spatial anomaly near the binary star, Furud. He'd been meaning to investigate for centuries, but never seemed to get around to it. _Well,_ n_o time like the present...or the past or future, for that matter._


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

_Dong….dong…dong!_

"I know, I know!" The cloister bell continued its monotonous chime while the Doctor frantically worked the controls. He kept a constant eye on the monitor that showed his position relative to the temporal anomaly and the twin stars.

Given his druthers, it was _not_ where he'd choose to be.

The Tardis was being tossed like a frisbee in the space between the stars, unable to escape due to the spatial fluctuations caused by the anomaly. He had tried to compensate by matching the wavelength of the quantum field generator to the rhythm of the space-time disturbance, but tiny variances in the pattern caused the ship to dart out in random directions - often perilously close to one or the other of the two stars - before being pulled right back in toward the anomaly.

He was about to execute an emergency vortex shift and get the heck out of Dodge - without staying for the gunfight, this time - when the Tardis gave a final shudder and everything went still. The cloister bell stopped nagging him. He checked the monitor; the ship was now in a smooth orbit around the anomaly, which showed as a softly pulsing blip on his screen.

"Right. Now let's see if I can work out what you are and where you came from." His fingers flew across the keyboard and the view changed to show a field of stars which seemed to ripple and flex as if seen through a shifting lens. _Hmm, 'bout what I expected. Not a rift – more like a scar but still out of sync, like it hasn't worked out how to blend in again with normal space-time._

Had someone been with him, he would have listed off a number of ways such a phenomenon might occur – a badly sealed rift, a weapon of some sort, or a cross-dimensional temporal disturbance, to name a few – but showing off for himself just wasn't worth it.

The change happened so swiftly that he didn't have time to brace himself. He reached for the sensor panel to take some readings and saw, out of the corner of his eye, the distorted area on the monitor leap forward to cover the entire screen.

"What? No! No no no no no no no!" He flung himself at the navigational controls, trying to maintain control and get out before it was –

Too late. The Doctor held onto the console and watched in fascinated horror as the control room seemed to writhe and stretch around him like a giant elastic toy. _Have to find a way out before the dimensional stabilizers overload. If that happens… _He really didn't want to continue that line of thought. Instead, he set to work, redirecting power to the stabilizers and the vortex engines, hoping to make that shift after all. It was incredibly dangerous to try to enter the vortex from unstable space, but the alternative was worse.

He double-checked the settings, a task made more difficult by the way the controls twisted and moved before his eyes. Not for the first time, he was grateful that Time Lords weren't prone to motion sickness. Finally satisfied, he crossed the fingers of one hand and pulled a lever with the other. The Tardis gave off a deep groaning noise and tried to enter the vortex.

He could _feel_ that something was wrong even before the instrument readings went haywire. The stars faded in and out on the monitor, which meant that the Tardis was unable to dematerialize completely – it was caught in a halfway state between the vortex and normal space-time, or, rather, what passed for normal space-time inside of the anomaly.

_Not good. _The forces at work would rip the Tardis apart in a matter of seconds. He had no choice but to rematerialize and try to pilot his way out without entering the vortex. He bolstered the shields and stabilizers to buy himself more time and was relieved to see the interior of the Tardis return to a normal state.

_Better, but it won't last for long. _He scanned the sensor readings; the Tardis was surrounded by little whirlpools of twisted space. He would have to avoid those, and he had no way to determine how far he'd have to travel to get out. This wasn't going to be easy.

With steady hands on the controls, he began his journey. He'd traveled only a short distance when one of the whirlpools switched course and moved directly into his path, too late for him to avoid it. The shields held, but the Tardis spun out of his control, throwing him first against the console and then into a support beam before dumping him unceremoniously onto the floor. He lifted his head, dazed and unable to regain his footing.

The spinning increased, then stopped abruptly. At the same moment, the console dimmed and the central column stopped pumping. He began to rise, but froze when he heard the doors behind him slam open. He turned – it wasn't possible, was it?

The doors were open. A lone figure stood framed in the open doorway, empty space behind him.

_I'm hallucinating – must be. This isn't happening._

The intruder, a tall, slim man with a severe countenance, returned his stare. If the man were human, the Doctor would have put him at about 60 years of age. He definitely _wasn't_ human, though. For one thing, he wore the traditional robes of a Time Lord.

"No. This isn't real! You're not here."

"No? I should think you'd be pleased to see one of your own kind again, after all this time."

The Doctor gritted his teeth, refusing to be taken in by wishful thinking. "Gallifrey was destroyed. The war was time locked and I would have known if there were other survivors."

"Come now, Doctor. You know as well as I do that the Time Lords will never truly be dead so long as _you_ remain."

The Doctor was on his feet again, glaring at the intruder. "What. ..are…you?

The other man smiled. "What do you think I am?"

"I don't know. A psychic projection, a shapeshifter, an hallucination," the Doctor replied, edging closer to the Tardis console. "Or a costumed git with a spaceship and a flare for drama." He glanced down at the instrument panel; the controls were dormant. Something had disabled the power.

The man quirked an eyebrow. "Don't worry. Control of your Tardis shall be returned to you when we are finished here. And I can assure you, I am none of those things."

"I see." The Doctor walked around the console and confronted his visitor, casually, hands in pockets. "So, just to get this straight, I'm supposed to believe that you're a Time Lord, miraculously resurrected - just waiting around inside a bit of mangled space for me to come and find you? That was a long wait – you must be famished."

He pulled a small apple from his pocket and tossed it. "Catch!" The man made no move to grab the apple; it simply passed through his solid-seeming body and disappeared out the open doorway.

The man's smile never wavered. "I have not asked you to believe anything. Your belief is irrelevant. You may consider me a ghost, if you like. "

"I don't believe in ghosts. Just ask the Cybermen."

The man shrugged. "You disappoint me, Doctor. It's not like you to persist in asking the wrong questions. Whatever I am, you cannot dispute that I am, in fact, _here_ – yet you have not asked _why_."

The Doctor was momentarily nonplussed. Perhaps it was the Time Lord robes that brought out what little remained of his respect for authority, but he felt a bit like a schoolboy caught unprepared for exams.

"Fine. _Why_ are you here?"

"That's better. I am here to remind you of several…_truths_…which you seem to have forgotten."

"Is that so? As it happens, I have a _very_ good memory."

"And yet you can immediately forget the name of someone who helped you. " The ghost regarded him intently, but his tone was kindly. "You remember that which you _wish_ to remember, Doctor. You remember that which you consider important."

That stung. Had he simply taken Carol's help for granted? Did he forget her name because it no longer mattered to him? _Oh, come on, people forget names all the time – doesn't mean anything. _Then again, he wasn't just _people_ – he was the Doctor.

"All right, so you want to remind me of something. What is it?"

"If I could simply _tell_ you, there would be no need for all these dramatics. No, Doctor. You're a very stubborn man. I'm afraid you will have to see for yourself."

He gestured toward the door. The empty space beyond dissolved into a brilliant flash of intensely white light, then faded abruptly. The Doctor blinked away the sudden glare and peered outside. To his astonishment, the void had been replaced by what appeared to be a grassy hillside - with purple trees, beneath an orange sky.

_It's not real_, he reminded himself. Nevertheless, he found himself fighting back tears. Illusion or not, it looked like _home_. His visitor stepped outside and beckoned him to follow, but he hesitated.

The ghost chuckled. "Doctor, if I wished to harm you, there would have been easier ways to go about it."

As usual, curiosity – and, in this case, homesickness – won out over the Doctor's instinct for self-preservation. He stepped through the door and surveyed his surroundings.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

They stood in a place of gently rolling hills, covered in long grass and dotted with trees and bushes. Mountains and the domed Citadel of the Time Lords loomed in the distance, an imposing structure surrounded by bare, jagged rock, giving one the impression that the Citadel had absorbed the life and vitality of its environs. Here, though, he could hear the birdsong and small animal noises, the hush of wind through the trees and grasses, and smell the sweet scent of the flowering bushes that always came first to his mind when he thought of home. The loss of the Time Lords had been a blow to the universe, but the loss of Gallifrey had been just as devastating to him personally.

There was a structure nearby, cunningly built into the hillside. White, marbled walls seemed to curve and grow naturally from the rock and soil. There were no windows, but open-air verandahs with benches and tables decorated every level. At the base of the hill, a single wooden door provided entrance to the building.

Several of the verandahs were in use. Children in Novice uniforms, ranging in age from eight to about fifteen, sat alone or in clusters holding computerized tablets and books, hard at work on their lessons. A handful of adults watched them, admonishing or giving assistance as needed.

The Doctor watched the students for a few moments then noticed a boy, perhaps eleven years old, sitting with his back against a tree outside the school. The child was drawing on a paper notepad resting upon his knees. The solemn expression on his face as he concentrated appeared at odds with the mischievous, elfin features partially hidden under an unruly tousle of light brown hair.

The Doctor knew that face – knew it even better than the one he currently wore.

The Time Lord's first instinct was to run back to his Tardis and leave immediately; to encounter himself as a child would have disastrous consequences. He had to remind himself forcefully that this wasn't time-travel. This wasn't even Gallifrey – it was an illusion. Had to be.

He swallowed hard. His childhood had been…difficult. The loneliness, the knowledge that he was different from his fellow students, and the nascent but growing certainty that Time Lord society, with its stagnant culture and insistence upon non-involvement, would never satisfy his lust for knowledge, for life itself – all of that had been a tremendous burden for such a small boy to carry.

A bell chimed from somewhere within the building. The students rose and filed through the portals to the interior rooms.

_Dinner-time_, the Doctor thought. Meals at the Time Lord Academy were much like those at any school on Earth – a time for camaraderie and a break from lessons and study. The Doctor's younger self didn't go in, though. He remained under his tree, drawing.

"It seems that you were not always the social butterfly you later became, Doctor," the ghost remarked wryly.

"Why are you showing me this? I haven't forgotten what school was like."

"Come." The ghost led him closer, stopping a few feet away from the boy. The young Doctor took no notice of them.

"They can't see us, I take it?"

The ghost smiled. "Of course not."

As they spoke, a girl came out of the building toward them, carrying a plate loaded with fruit, cheese and bread. She stopped in front of the boy and stood looking down at him. She was a little younger than he was, ginger curls framing a round, freckled face.

_Eda_, the Doctor remembered.

"Well," she said, "if you aren't going to come in and eat, then the food is going to have to come to you, isn't it? That is, if you can stop making pictures long enough."

_She was a bit like Donna_, the Doctor realized. _Never thought about that before._

The boy looked up at her and smiled. "'Hi, Eda. Sorry, I was just trying to get it right. And…thanks."

She returned the smile and sat down next to him, setting the plate of food between them. "I still don't understand why you bother – it takes so long, and a computer can do it more accurately and much faster."

"Getting it right doesn't mean getting it exact, like a photograph…never mind, it's not important."

"Can I see?"

"Sure." He handed her the notebook and she perused the pages as they ate.

"It's funny," she said after a while, "there are differences…the measurements aren't quite right – this tree branch is several degrees out of alignment, for example - and the lighting is all wrong, but they almost look _better_ than the real thing. More…pleasing somehow."

"That's art," he said. "It's not about reproducing what you see exactly as it is. It's about, well…showing how it makes you feel at the same time, hmm?"

She nodded. "These are all sort of dark. Is that how you feel when you see trees and hills?"

The boy considered. "No, not really. It's just that shadows are interesting. They hide things, make things seem more complex. More mysterious. I just like that, I suppose."

The ghost turned to the Doctor. "An astute observation for such a young boy. Did you know that was what you were doing, before you explained it to her?"

The Doctor paused, trying to remember. "No, I just did it without thinking. I didn't realize that was the reason until she asked."

"And yet that simple realization – that you enjoy mystery – had such a profound effect upon who you became. All because of a child's innocent question."

"Yes, I suppose it did."

"I believe we're finished here." The ghost gestured toward the Tardis. "After you, Doctor."

The Doctor paused for a moment and took a last, lingering look. He knew this world was an illusion, but it was still hard to turn his back on it. He may have spent most of his life in exile, much of it self-imposed, but exile was quite different from not having a home at all. He listened to the birds, breathed in a last reminder of the scent of home, and turned to go.

Back in the Tardis, he leaned against the console with his arms folded across his chest and addressed the ghost. "Well, you did your research, I'll give you that, but a phony trip back in time isn't enough to impress a _real_ Time Lord."

"It was not my intention to impress you, only to show you what you have forgotten."

"I have _not_ forgotten Gallifrey. I couldn't if I wanted to."

The ghost shook his head. "As I said, Doctor, you are a stubborn man. Perhaps our next destination will help you to understand."

"No. Not until you tell me who you are. I played your game, now it's your turn."

"Who do you think I am, Doctor?"

"Answer a question with a question – hmm? Socrates?" The ghost smiled and shook his head. "No? How about every teacher I had at the acad – wait!" The Doctor stared at the ghost. He didn't recognize the face, the personality - but the man seemed familiar somehow, like tiny pieces of his past cut out and put together again. "That's it, isn't it? You're an amalgam – a composite being, comprising every older Time Lord I ever knew."

"Very good. You always were a very bright student when you applied yourself."

"That still doesn't explain why you're standing there talking to me."

"No, it doesn't. My turn, Doctor. Shall we move on?"

_No harm in playing along, I suppose_, the Doctor thought. "Right then," he spread his arms in an expansive, mocking gesture. "Lay on, Macduff!"

The ghost turned back toward the doorway. There was another flash of light and the Gallifreyan scenery was replaced by a narrow, quiet street corner. It was night and a street lamp cast a yellow sheen over falling snow and graffiti-covered brick walls.

This time, the Doctor went out first. He knew this area – they were a few blocks from the Powell Estate. Raucous noise carried from a pub down the street. Shouts of "Happy New Year!" erupted from time to time, and he could hear fireworks in the distance. The ghost followed him, the Time Lord robes looking ridiculously out of place in South London.

Voices from the opposite corner caught his attention. Two women walked toward him, arguing. Though they were still some distance away and bundled up against the weather, there was no mistaking them. He would have recognized Rose if she'd been wearing a bag over her head - and the way Jackie's voice rang when she was angry was something he wasn't likely to forget.

"Sweetheart, why don't you find a job closer to home? That posh shop's like another world – wouldn't you rather stay around here with your mates instead of hobnobbing with the rich and botoxed? The laundromat's hiring – that's good work, with regular hours."

"I like getting out sometimes. I like meeting different sorts of people. And…I feel like I could do more."

Oh, listen to you, Little Miss High-and-Mighty. You should have thought about that before you dropped out of school and ran off with that Jimmy bloke."

"So maybe I was just trying to be like you," Rose retorted as they passed by the Doctor. She looked so _young_, like she had when they'd first met. Just another human, living a small life in a world no larger than her daily bus commute. _But…she was so much more than that._

Jackie stared at her daughter, speechless and hurt. Rose looked back at her mother and her expression softened. "I'm sorry, Mum. I didn't mean it like that. It's just…you've always talked about how Dad had all these big dreams and came and swept you off your feet. I reckon I wanted to find someone like Dad." She offered a weak smile. "Turned out spiffy, didn't it?"

"You could have done better than that. At least Mickey knows how to treat you right."

Rose hugged Jackie. "I love you, Mum, you know that."

Jackie smiled sadly. "Sweetheart, I just miss you, that's all. And I worry about you, working nights and taking the bus home."

"Just give me three months, all right? If they don't put up my salary by then I'll look for something else. You know what, though? I think 2005 is going to be my year."

"I hope so, Sweetheart. I really do."

The two women continued on their way, the Doctor and the ghost staring after them.

"Rose. Before she met me."

"Her three months were almost up when you met. Had she survived the Autons, she would have left her job at the shop, gone to work at the laundromat or the butchers', married Mickey, churned out a few children – she'd never have left South London, saved countless lives, and gone to work for Torchwood. You saved her, Doctor."

"No. She saved _me_." The Doctor's voice was husky with emotion. "I left _her_ stranded in an alternate universe with a biological meta-crisis."

"Nevertheless, who would have believed that in a short time that young girl would be speaking with Charles Dickens himself?" The ghost chuckled as if at a private joke. "Great man, that one – for a human."

"Are we finished here?" The Doctor was eager to change the subject.

The ghost nodded. "You may return to your Tardis if you like. I shall not accompany you."

"That's it? That's all you wanted to show me? Bit anti-climactic, isn't it?"

"I am finished, Doctor, but you are not. Another will take over from here," the ghost replied, a mischievous glint in his eye. "An old friend of yours, I believe." He faded from view as he said this and the Doctor found himself alone in the street.

He frowned. Something tugged at his memory. Was he going mad?

[Author's note: This is my first chapter fic and it's a bit scary putting these out there before the story is finished. If you've read this far and can spare a moment, please leave feedback. It really helps – thanks!]


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The Doctor strolled back to his ship, trying to work out what the ghost had been trying to tell him. Two unrelated scenes, one from his childhood, another from Rose's past when he hadn't been around. What was the connection?

The Tardis door was open - it seemed unlikely that imaginary thieves would try to steal a police box they couldn't see. He stopped short just inside the door when he saw his next visitor perched casually on the railing.

"You!"

"Who'd you expect? Father Christmas?"

The Master hopped down nimbly, looking much as he had when the Doctor had last seen him, but his hair was lighter and, instead of an expensive suit, he wore dark jeans and a black hoodie.

The Doctor didn't move. "You're looking lively, all things considered," he said, stiffly.

The Master might be just another 'ghost', but the Doctor knew better than to jump to conclusions – and this nostalgia-fest would certainly fit the insane Time Lord's style. He'd seen the Master die, watched his body burn on the funeral pyre, but - then again - the Master had been ashes before and that hadn't stopped him.

"Nope. Sorry. Dead as a doornail, I'm afraid." He paused. "What does that mean anyway – 'dead as a doornail'? Why isn't it 'dead as a door _knob'_, or 'dead as a desk chair'?" The Doctor just stared at him. "Oh, never mind. The point is, I didn't come back to play house with you – though I have to say, it was _fun_ spoiling your dreams of domestic bliss by dying in your arms."

"Why _are_ you here? No, don't tell me. You're here to remind me of something I'd forgotten, right? Another trip down memory lane?"

The Master shook his head. "No, Doctor. I prefer to live in the _now _– which is sort of funny coming from a Time Lord, don't you think? But seriously, I'm here to tell it like it is, maybe take you down a peg or three while I'm at it. Sounds fun, doesn't it?"

"Sounds like a riot," the Doctor replied, dripping sarcasm. "Gotta say though, I like the hoodie – not as tacky as those rubbish capes you used to wear."

"Fashion advice from _you_, Doctor? I'll bet you still have that old patchwork jacket in a closet somewhere, don't you? Just in case you get tired of the librarian get-up?"

The Doctor didn't want to answer that. "Let's get on with it, shall we?"

"Fine. Off we go then!" With that, the Master headed for the door, walking right _through_ the Doctor.

The Doctor hadn't seen a flash this time, but when he turned around the snowy night scene was gone. It was daytime and another city street. When he stepped out, he realized they were still in London, on the Embankment. That is, it _looked_ like the London he knew, but the airships parked on the Thames gave it away.

_Pete's World._

The Master sauntered down the sidewalk without waiting for him, then hopped up a set of steps and into a small café. The Doctor sighed and followed him in. The place wasn't crowded - and the reason for the visit was immediately apparent.

Rose Tyler sat at a table near the window, overlooking the river. Seated across from her was…himself. _The meta-crisis version of me_, the Doctor remembered.

The half-human Doctor was no longer wearing the blue suit, dressed instead in a grey t-shirt, a casual black wool blazer, and jeans. The Master sat at the next table, observing them, and the Doctor joined him.

"Well, isn't she spunky? I can see why you liked her," the Master told him. "Reckon she would have grated on the nerves after a while, though. Clingy, wasn't she?" The Doctor's scowl only encouraged him. "Good job fobbing her off with a clone in Bizarro World. Got her out of your hair at least."

"It wasn't like that…" the Doctor began.

"What d'you reckon it was then?" Rose asked. The Doctor gave a start –_ did she hear that?_ – then realized she was talking to the other him.

The other-Doctor answered, "Just a virus, alien in origin but not intelligent – not a planned invasion anyway. We've given the vaccine to UNIT in case there's another outbreak but I don't think we'll have any more trouble with it."

"Glad to hear it. Green hair doesn't suit my complexion."

Other-Doctor smiled tenderly. "You could grow scales and spout tentacles like an Ood; I'd still think you're the most beautiful woman in the universe." He reached across the table and took her hand in his. The Doctor noticed that they were wearing matching wedding rings.

Rose blushed and smiled.

"She looks…happy. _Really_ happy," the Doctor murmured. "So does he."

The Master leaned close, speaking softly in his ear. "Jealous, Doctor? Second thoughts, perhaps?"

"No." Privately, the Doctor wasn't so sure. Part of him longed to reach out and touch her, wishing it could be _him_ holding her hand, looking into her eyes as she smiled back at him…

Still, the doubts he'd harbored since he'd left Bad Wolf Bay for the final time were fading away. Deep down, he'd worried that leaving Rose here -Earth-bound with a damaged half-human Time Lord who wasn't _quite_ the man she loved - was just a coward's way out.

Watching the couple, he began to believe that he'd done the right thing. Even if it was just an illusion, it _felt_ like truth. He recalled the words she'd said to him on the Sanctuary base: _Stuck with you - that's not so bad._ She had loved traveling through time and space with him, but more than that, she had loved _him_. It appeared that this half-human Doctor was him enough, without the drawback of immortality to stand in the way.

Rose and other-Doctor were still talking, discussing their work, her family, plans for the future...

"Let's go," the Doctor said. "I've seen enough."

"Oh, don't be such a spoil-sport," the Master replied. "I _like_ watching you squirm." The Doctor ignored him. He stood up and walked out without a backward glance.

Outside the café, he was surprised to find that he was no longer on the Embankment. He was still indoors, amidst a crowd of people milling about. The Master came up behind him, and when he looked back, the café door was gone.

They were standing in a crowded airport terminal. The weather outside the windows was bleak – heavy snow covered the runways. Many of the travelers were lying on the floor or seated, leaning against their suitcases, wrapped in airplane blankets. _Snowed in, from the look of things._ Angry, frustrated passengers surrounded the check-in desks. The harried staff was trying to keep up; a loudspeaker announcement pleaded for patience and understanding, Flight attendants passed out blankets and steaming cups of hot liquid.

A woman's voice behind him broke through the din. "We need 50 more blankets here, Sam, and please ask the store room to send over 300 flight meals. These people will need to be fed if we don't want a riot. Emma, you go with him – see if we can get some coloring books and crayons for the kids."

He knew that voice. He turned – a woman wearing a cross between the flight attendants' uniform and a business suit was directing the others, checking on passengers and assuring them that they'd be on their way as soon as it was safe.

"Tegan," he whispered hoarsely.

Tegan Jovanka was approaching middle age now, but still lovely - and had apparently been promoted to management.

"Ah yes," the Master answered. "Good old Tegan. Whatever happened to her, anyway? Oh, that's right – she ran away from you, didn't she? Told you to sod off? "

The Doctor tried to ignore him; he didn't need reminding. He could never forget the last time he saw Tegan, a young woman haunted and shattered by all the violence she had witnessed while in his company. In his guilt over her distress, he'd all but forgotten about _this_ Tegan, the one who had blossomed throughout their adventures together, who kept her wits about her when things were rough, who took charge when others couldn't or wouldn't, who always put the wellbeing of others before her own.

"Now look at her, the poor thing," the Master continued, "Living a life of day-to-day drudgery. Serving coffee to ungrateful idiots. What a waste."

"No," the Doctor replied, breaking into a grin. "This is what she always wanted. " As he said it, he realized it was true. She was living her dream, and he had - in a small way - helped her to achieve it.

She'd _always_ been strong – he certainly couldn't take credit for that – but he _had_ helped her to realize her own potential. Watching her now, he saw a confident woman who wasn't fazed by a trifling snowstorm or daunted by a restless crowd of people; she had faced down far greater dangers in her time.

The Master shook his head. "This is too painful to watch. Time to move on, I think." He strode through – literally through – the crowd of people. The Doctor followed suit. It was an odd, uncomfortable feeling, having human beings pass right through him. The floor felt solid and he could feel the recycled air brush his face, but the people made no impression on him at all.

The Tardis was parked in a corner behind an unused baggage carrier. Problem was, the door was facing toward the wall.

"Oh, _brilliant_," complained the Master, rolling his eyes. "Ah well, guess we'll have to do without the props this time."

He snapped his fingers and the airport terminal disappeared around them. Now they were standing in yet another street. "I don't think _this_ scene will leave you smiling, Doctor," he said, a nasty glint in his eye.

The Doctor sniffed - it smelled like Chiswick.


	5. Chapter 4

**Interlude**

Donna stared blankly out the window. Catching herself daydreaming, she returned her attention to the computer screen.

_I'm so spacey lately..._

Temping wasn't exactly fulfilling, but she'd always taken pride in her work. Now she couldn't shake the feeling that she should be doing something else, something more, well, _more_.

_I should travel, go to Egypt… Nah, it's all hotels and tour books, then you're home._

How did she know that?

_Must have seen that in a film once. Maybe I should do one of those volunteer ecotourism trips. Donna Noble saves the world…_

She smiled softly.

_Right. As if._

**Chapter 4**

The Master led the Doctor into an alley behind a row of houses. Overstuffed red bin bags hugged the stone and brick walls at regular intervals; bits of wrapping paper, packaging, and old Christmas decorations poked through the tops. There was no snow, this time, but the clouds threatened rain.

A garage door opened and a woman in a heavy coat stepped out, carrying yet another bag of rubbish. Her ginger hair covered her face as she bent down to set the bag on the worn asphalt, but the Doctor felt an instant pang of recognition.

_Oh Donna, I'm so sorry,_ he thought – not for the first time.

Donna straightened and turned, but instead of diving back into the warmth of her home, she leaned against the side of the garage and sighed, staring at…nothing. She looked tired, like she hadn't slept much lately. The Doctor could hear her mother, Sylvia, shouting at someone inside the house. _Poor Wilfred._

"_Another_ companion abandoned? Tsk, tsk, Doctor. You can't tell me this one's happy with her useless little life," the Master chided, smirking. "Just look at her."

"You're right," the Doctor agreed, sadly. "I wish – but it was all I could do for her."

It pained him to see her like this. She seemed…lost. Since the night he'd brought her back to her family, he'd comforted himself with the notion that at least she was no worse off than she'd been before she met him. Looking at her now, he wasn't so sure. He'd removed all of the _memories_ associated with her time with him, but Donna herself had changed in the time he knew her. Neural pathways in her brain had rerouted themselves as she grew and learned. She had become a different person - and that wasn't something he could have reversed in the short time he had to save her life, even if he could bring himself to do it.

"All you _could_ do? Or all you _would_ do, Doctor?"

"Taking the memories was hard enough – reprogramming her to be exactly who she was before she met me… that would have been too dangerous, not to mention just plain _wrong_."

"That's not what I meant," the Master replied, watching him intensely.

The Doctor returned his stare for a moment before looking away. He didn't answer.

Another call came from inside the house, louder this time.

"Don't get yer knickers in a bunch!" Donna yelled. "I'm coming." She stormed back into the garage.

_Now _that's_ my Donna_, the Doctor said to himself.

As the garage door closed, the Doctor felt a slight wrenching. The daylight seemed to change around him. Where it had been morning before, it now felt like late afternoon. The Doctor glanced at the sky. Not quite as cloudy - and it felt colder than it had a few moments ago.

He heard footsteps from the street, approaching the end of the alley opposite them. He looked - and looked again when he saw who it was.

Donna?

She was wearing a different outfit and seemed to be returning from work. As she neared her house, she slowed, looking in his direction, seemingly wary of something.

"What're _you_ looking at? Cuz whatever you're selling, I'm not buying, boy-o."

For one startled moment, the Doctor thought she was talking to him. Then he realized she was looking just past him. He looked over his shoulder.

"Are you sure?" the Master replied. "I think you may be _very_ interested once you see what I have to offer."

"_What?" _The Doctor's head swiveled back and forth between them. Donna could see the Master now, but not _him_, apparently. His mind reeled in horror when he realized what this could mean. If the Master had come back somehow, if he knew about Donna…

_Is this just an illusion - a trick - or something that really happens?_

The Master moved toward Donna, speaking slowly, hypnotically. The Doctor tried to block him, but the other Time Lord just walked through him, showing no awareness of his presence. "We have a mutual friend, Donna. He took something from you. I'd like to give it back."

Donna stood motionless until the Master stood before her and lifted his hands to her temples, and then she seemed to snap out of it.

"Oi! Gerroff!" She kneed him in the crotch and ran, up the steps and through her backyard gate, yelling at her family inside the house to phone the police.

The Master straightened and started after her, snarling, but now loud, worried voices carried from inside the house. He seemed to think better of it and, instead, ran off down the alley and away from Donna's place.

The Doctor realized he'd been holding his breath; he let out a sigh of relief. Anger bubbled up inside of him. More than anything, he _hated_ feeling helpless when someone – particularly a beloved friend - was in danger. _Time to get serious_, he thought. He'd been willing to go along with the game so long as no one was hurt, but this was something else entirely.

"Let's see now," he said, aloud. "First, a Time Lord shows me scenes from the past. My past. Rose's past."

"Next, the Master shows me things that happened in the early twenty-first century. In my timeline related to Rose and Donna - and Tegan, I suppose - that's the present."

Things began to click in his mind.

"The second time, with Donna, that happens later, in her – and my – future. Which, if I'm not mistaken, makes you…"

He turned, to find Ood Sigma standing calmly behind him.

"…the Ghost of Christmas Future. Am I right?"

[Author's note: The "Interlude" at the beginning of this chapter was previously published as a standalone drabble, "A Life Less Ordinary." It just seemed to fit perfectly here, and so, rather than rewrite it, I plagiarized my own work.]


End file.
